


I swear; It doesn't hurt!

by aerobesk



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:49:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1351426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerobesk/pseuds/aerobesk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grif huffed as he walked away, ignoring the sounds of Donut calling after him. Honestly, his arm did hurt, but he wasn’t about to tell Donut that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I swear; It doesn't hurt!

“I’m telling you, I’m fine!”

            Grif huffed as he walked away, ignoring the sounds of Donut calling after him. Honestly, his arm did hurt, but he wasn’t about to tell Donut that. The pink soldier had been driving the warthog for practice with Grif in the back keeping watch; he was sure that Donut hadn’t meant to hit the bump as hard as he did, but it had still caused the orange soldier to go flying off the back, landing fairly heavily on his right shoulder directly on a rock.

            He knew that he was injured, but he wasn’t dumb enough to go to someone for help. Simmons and Donut would fuss over him, Doc would probably end up killing him, and Sarge would try to amputate it and replace it with a rocket launcher. So he quickly went to his room, locking the door behind him and taking off his armor, hissing as he pulled his shirt off over the wound.

            He looked at it in the mirror. His right shoulder was one massive welt, having taken his entire body weight on it. It looked like it had already started bruising, but while he took the rest of his armor off and moved his arm around, he realized that at least he could still move it.

            Grif quickly threw on a new shirt, heading out of his room and down the hall. He wouldn’t have to tell anyone about it.

—-

            He had to tell someone about it. Barely a week had gone by and his shoulder was so swollen he couldn’t even get his armor on. Someone was bound to notice. He shook his head, leaving the room and moving down the hall, set on getting ice for it. He could take care of it himself.

            He moved into the kitchen, ignoring Simmons and Donut sitting at the table and Sarge making coffee. He reached into the freezer, pulling out one of their many ice packs, and turned around to see a confused look from Simmons.

            “You feeling ok?”

            “Yeah, just a headache. Nothing major.”

            He turned to leave, only being stopped by Donut calling out to him.

            “Hey Grif? Why’s your shoulder look weird?”

            He turned quickly, putting his head between his right shoulder and Donut, but the pink soldier had already caught on to what had happened.

            “Oh no…” He stood quickly moving to Grif’s other side and pressing his fingers into the spot, causing a yelp and a spasm to come from the orange soldier. “Oh god Grif, I told you to get that checked!”

            “Get what checked?”

            Simmons was standing and moving towards them now, and Grif moved away, still trying to hid the obvious swelling under his shirt. “It’s nothing, jeez.”

            Sarge was watching with interest now, and Grif decided to play with his leader’s hate for him a little bit.

            “I shouldn’t be a baby, and I should be able to take care of my wounds myself, right sir?”

            Unfortunately, Sarge was enjoying watching Grif squirm more than he let on, and shook his head. “No, you idiot, of course not. You get that stuff taken care of by someone who knows how to fix it. Can’t have you incapacitated, now can we?”

            Grif stared at him in disbelief, so confused by the older man’s sudden change of heart that he didn’t see Simmons putting himself between Grif and the door, reaching out and grabbing Grif by the arm. The orange soldier jumped, hissing in pain as he automatically tried to get his arm away, hurting his already wounded shoulder.

            Simmons was staring at the spot in worry. “Grif, what happened?” Donut took that as his queue, quickly explaining to Simmons what had happened a week prior.

            “I honestly didn’t mean to hit the bump so hard! And he told me he was fine…” the pink soldier finished in a small voice, looking down. He was obviously upset that he hadn’t insisted that Grif get his arm checked, but Simmons waved it off, reaching for the hem of Grif’s shirt.

            “It’s not your fault Donut, just this moron’s. Now, are you going to let me look at it, or are you going to keep fighting until I go get Doc?”

            Grif immediately went still, judging the expression on his boyfriend’s face and ultimately deciding that whatever Simmons was doing would be better than their ‘medic’ trying to do it. He held still, lifting his arm up as much as possible so that Simmons could get the shirt off. Once it was gone, he heard both Simmons and Donut gasp, and he looked away, knowing exactly what they were seeing.

            Most of his shoulder was bruised, blacks and blues and ugly purples and greens were splotched across the right side of his chest, and had even started to discolor up the side of his neck. Simmons and Donut studied it in horror before the maroon soldier got a hold of himself, taking the ice pack from Grif and holding it to the swollen bruises. He quickly moved Grif out of the room and towards his bedroom.

            “Simmons, what are you doing?”

            “I’m going to take care of you, you idiot. You’ve obviously hurt yourself really badly, and if you’re not going to take care of it properly, then I will.”

            “I don’t need to be taken care of Simmons.”

            “Obviously you do! Otherwise, it wouldn’t look like that!”

            They’d arrived at his door, and Grif tried one more time while Simmons got it open.

            “I’m telling you, it’s ok. I don’t need to be taken care of.”

            Simmons turned around, looking at his unnervingly evenly.

            “You tell me one more time not to do this and I’m getting Doc.”

            Grif winced, nodding once to show that he understood. He was lucky not to already have the medic there in the first place. He wasn’t about to test his luck.

            Simmons got him settled, getting the ice pack set up before going to get medicine. He came back with a tray of food, three pill bottles balanced on it.

            “Doc says that to take the one that’ll help with the bruises, you need to have food with it.”

            He dished out the right amount of pills handing Grif the tray before sitting next to him on the bunk, laying out and resting his head on Grif’s good arm. The orange soldier ate quietly, only looking at Simmons when he heard the other quietly snoring.

            Maybe he could get used to being taken care of.


End file.
